


Love Is My Disaster

by Sparcina



Series: How Frostiron Could Have Started [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Loki, But Good Tony, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Cock Worship, Curiosity is sexy, Dark Tony, Destruction worship, Dirty Talk, Intellect worship, Kinks, Loki is a god and knows it, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in the lab, Their own kind of love, Typical FI Angst, doubts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki doesn't plan to be denied. Tony doesn't plan to deny him. Anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cohortis mente cinædus - Sapiophilia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/gifts).



> This is a gift for RsCreighton, who made a [podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620165) out of the wonderful Frostiron [Halo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/279661), written by the not-less-wonderful paxlux (look it up)! I would like to thank everyone in the Frostiron fandom for coming up with amazing new stories involving those two darlings.  
> Musical inspiration: [Roter Mond](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUKGOHy6mao) by Megaherz. 

The Avengers had been fighting Loki for months rapidly stretching into years. Frost giants with blood-red eyes, war machines from a retrofuturistic universe, blasts of everburning fire... Tony could count on one hand the times Loki had employed the same offensive method twice, or rather, on one finger. Loki enjoyed novelty in the destruction department, and if the recent invasion of three-headed aliens was any indication, this tendency was on the rise.

Tony played by the same rules. Sometimes, he liked to tell himself that he didn’t have a choice; he was the one defending Earth against otherworldly forces. Creativity was essential, and so was destruction. Still, he spent many a night locked in his lab, convinced that his true nature resembled more that of a God of Mischief than an Avenger.

He hated himself for it. He hated Loki for it. For a while, the irate fire of self-loathing did its work. He built counterweapons. He flew on the battlefield, aiming at everything flashing green. He sat down in Fury’s conference room and surgically dissected evil plans. They all wanted Loki dead, or at the very least imprisoned somewhere from which no one could escape, not even a sorcerer from another realm.

The issue was… curiosity. If he was honest with himself, Tony had always held a beautiful intellect in high regard, no matter the outside varnish. So when he realized that Loki didn’t seek mere destruction, he started to pay attention to smaller patterns that had previously escaped his notice.

Loki didn’t kill humans; he imprisoned their beings in denser forms, atoms compressed, to study them later on. He may get rid of them eventually, but first and foremost, he examined them, driven by curiosity. In his frosty magical realm, out of reach from his family, reigning over giants of ice of his own cold blood, he wanted to understand what made humans  _human_. He, a God.

That wasn’t something Tony told the others. First, it was all suspicions, not facts, nor proofs. It had only occurred to him in the first place because of the way Loki’s face turned inquisitive for the last blow. Inquisitive, not satisfied. Satisfaction came with answers, and Loki was still hunting them.

The other reason he didn’t tell his team was more personal. As far as he could tell, Loki didn’t want him dead in the foreseeable future. If wasn’t like if Loki couldn’t have killed him at least a dozen times already. Especially that day he had shoved him through a window, unprotected, no suit, human in every way. A piece of collection for a connoisseur, to be pinned down and taken apart later on.

But still Tony lived, even if only to oblige curiosity.

*

“I will be damned.”

He sat down on the floor of his lab, the Mark 69 waiting its stabilization dampers temporarily forgotten. He had been awake for two days straight now, having decided that working on his armor was definitively better than contemplating the twisted avenues of his brain.

Yes, intellect was definitively something that could temper hate. It was a balm that burnt at higher temperatures, for longer times. It made his skin itch and his brain ache. Curiosity. He wanted Loki in a room apart from the world and their continuous battle for power, offense and defense discarded like so many pretentions to struggle.

The fact that he acknowledged it didn’t mean he accepted it in full. He didn’t like Loki–the God was too dangerous, too unpredictable for that. Could one develop a fixation over an incarnation of Death itself? It wasn’t healthy, and albeit Tony had long ago made clear he enjoyed risks, he wasn’t suicidal. And he wasn’t one of the bad guys. He was just… curious.

He went back to tinkering. Of all the things he could be doing–signing papers for Pepper, infuriating Fury, seducing someone for the night–the safest option was still lab work. He also didn’t want to consider too closely the meaning of his sudden disinterest for easy flesh in the clubs downtown.

“Don’t stop.”

Those were Loki’s first words as he broke into his lab. Tony turned around slowly, as if a puppeteer had pulled on his strings. He could almost sense tiny wires hooked to his every nerve and muscle. It reminded him of dancing, of a time less complex, when flirtation didn’t involve the risk of being tossed out of a window.

Curiosity. Filtration. Mere synonyms, in the end.

“I told you not to stop, Stark.”

Loki walked towards him; no, he strode, purposeful, head held high. Tony could only stare at the black and green figure, tools half-forgotten in his grip. Loki had always been tall, and the horns only added to the impression of superiority. There was something grandiose about him that made Tony want to kneel, for once, without being prompted. Perhaps it was the hint of interest in the God’s eyes.

Then he made sense of the words told and got back to work. It seemed the most logical thing to do, at the time. His suit needed improvement,  _someone_ wanted in on his work–why not fuse usefulness and pleasure?  

Hours ticked by. JARVIS stayed silent. The mansion stayed silent. At some point, he blinked, unable to remember what he had been doing only seconds prior. He needed coffee. He needed sleep.

A hand on his shoulder took care of those needs. He spun around, a little dizzily, and found two sharp green eyes locked on him. The hand was light on his shoulder, at odds with the incredible pressure of that look.

“Do you not fear?”

Tony felt a shiver run down his spine. Then up. Then down again. He could have sworn Loki’s hand was moving across his back, commanding to his pleasure center. His eyelids fluttered.

“Should I?”

The light in the green eyes grew colder. Tony felt warmth spread to his fingertips.

“You want to see my mind,” he said slowly. “You’ve come in curiosity.”

He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than  _peace_. His breath caught in his throat as Loki’s hands came up, closer and closer to his face, imperative. He felt yearning tear at his insides. He wanted a taste of that alien, godly inquisitiveness.

Loki’s lips twisted for the blink of an eye. “Shall I, Anthony?”

Without waiting for an answer, he placed his palms on Tony’s temples, eyes narrowed in hungry slits. Tony kept still.

“A part of you wants to fight me,” Loki said after a moment, fingers hard on his skin. It reminded Tony of a toy in an eager child’s grasp. “With the tools around you. With your bare fists.”

“And yet I don’t.”

“Why is that, Anthony?”

Tony should have been bothered by the use of his full name, but he wasn’t. He only wondered if Loki wanted as much in his head as _he_ wished to sink beneath the white skin aglow. The God’s eyes were the most sublime shade of green he had ever seen, and he wished right there to build a pendant to contain that color, to carry around his neck. The raw power he felt in the stare made his mouth water.   

“That device keeps you alive.”

It wasn’t a question. Loki’s hand brushed past his cheek, his collarbone, went  _through_ his shirt and closed on the arc reactor. For a moment, Tony imagined it hummed louder from the attention.

“Do you want to kill me?”

The look Loki gave him was severe. “Had I wanted to kill you, I could have done so a thousand times already.”

“But you want to look inside me.”

“That would kill you,” Loki pointed out with a smirk.

He stilled, smile frozen on his lips. Tony became aware of his own hand on one of the horns. When nothing happened, he reached lower, for the rich clothing hiding Loki’s throat. The fabric felt cold and silky under his thumb.

“I am not the only one beset with curiosity. But whereas I have the means to get answers, you are merely mortal.”

Tony shrugged, laying down the wrench he had been holding for the past few minutes. He felt tired all over again.

“So what is it you want?” he asked, sharply. “You haven’t come here for small talk.”

All of a sudden, he found himself backed into one of his desks, thighs bitten by the metallic edge. He arched backwards, forced into submission by the lean body inversely bent above him. Every detail of Loki’s clothing was pressed into him, imprinted like a promise, like the ghost hands from earlier. Dark ribbons of silky hair reduced his field of vision to twin stars of green volition.

“You couldn’t possibly defend yourself if I tore you apart.”

Tony bit down his lip. For some reason, he didn’t believe that to be a threat.

“Nor could you keep me from prying your mind open and stare at it until it turned to dust.”

He felt sweat forming between his shoulder blades. Words swirled around in his head, and when they found some kind of order, they fell past his lips.

“You could do anything you wanted. You're right.”

“And you wouldn’t stop me.”

“I wouldn’t wish to.”

“Because you believe that you could destroy me while I am destroying you. Your thoughts are fascinating, Anthony.”

Tony coughed.

“I was going to say ‘study’, but have it your way.”

“Oh, but I plan to,” Loki purred. “And you will help me, pet.”

Heat pooled in his groin.

“Is that so? Ah…”

Icy cold hands were suddenly on his torso, the fabric of his shirt torn over pale knuckles. Fingers were pressing everywhere, tracing new lines of convention, Tony Stark’s very own Greenwich Meridian, right across his arc reactor. The shivers came back at once, an army of them, turning his insides to molding paste. His knees would have given hadn’t it been for the body pressed against his. A very interested body, judging by what he sensed against his belly.

“You don’t like me, right?” he asked. Somehow, the question was important.

Loki pressed harder against him. He was quite heavy for someone so slim. But then, he was a God. "A God doesn’t like.”

“He uses,” Tony finished for him. “Good. Wouldn’t want some misunderstanding to disrupt our little experiment here.”

This was the last coherent sentence he mustered for a while. Not that he couldn’t, if he tried really hard–he was a genius, after all. But then, he wouldn’t want to miss anything happening against the desk. Like his mouth being plundered by an exquisitely cold tongue. Or his knees hitting the floor. Or else the fist in his hair, tilting his head back, exposing bare flesh for Loki to taste and  _know_. He especially didn't want to miss the part when a God came apart in his very mortal mouth, pouring down his throat knowledge of his making, pieces of a puzzle of lust, violence and anger, to be held by his being only. He swallowed everything and found himself on the very edge of begging.

It turned out he didn’t have to. He had guessed for a while now that Loki Liesmith could read thoughts, and now the God was riding his every fantasy–most of them he hadn’t even know he had–yanking his pants down, shoving him against the desk and impaling him in one swift thrust. It burnt and ached and Tony couldn’t find it in him to care. He wasn’t betraying anybody, he thought as Loki pounded into him, mischievously hurting him as much as pleasuring him. He was understanding. He was being human. Faced with a God, and a mystery, that was the best anyone could do.

“I might still kill you, you know.”

Loki was back in his clothes. A strand of black hair divided his face in two. Tony wanted to drag those halves further apart and see the mechanisms of that ambitious mind. Loki didn’t like him–he wanted to own him, as in knowing him more deeply than his own body. Tony felt like turning his skin inside out if it meant getting under Loki’s, even just a little.

“Beware of windows,” the God added, a finger trailing down Tony’s cheek. “I am easily tempted.”

When Tony answered, the lab was empty.

“So I am.”

He really couldn’t see any reason why intellectual worship was a bad thing.


	2. Statu quo in bello - Symphorophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Symphorophilia** : paraphilia in which sexual arousal involves staging and watching a disaster, such as a fire or a traffic accident.
> 
> Musical inspiration (ja, ein anderes Mal auf Deutsch!): [ Still Meinen Durst (Quench My Thirst) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DBy8-Jv7Jk) and [ Engel der Nacht (Angel of the Night) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qhg1M8MBOpY) by Eisenherz.  
> 
> I felt like there was more to this story... Hope you like it!  
>  

Curiosity had saved his life before. Nowadays, it made it more entertaining, even if he was closing on sixty. A fit sixty, a sexually active and enthusiastically mischievous sixty, but sixty nonetheless.

He was not a man easily sated, and neither was Loki. He didn’t expect anything less from a being that remembered the Roman Empire from his childhood and played along with the scourge of the Middle Ages in his teenage years.

He had come to expect nothing at all, because most of the time, he was wrong, or only partly right, and everybody knew he hated being wrong. Loki surprised him at every turn. He also gifted him with the only thing he’d really yearned for his whole life and couldn’t quite obtain from anybody.

Acceptance for who he was. And affection for his darker side, true wonder.

“This realm [1] is ours to protect and destroy,” Loki had once told him, one winter night as they lay by the fireplace, sweaty limbs entangled to the point of fusion.

It had been a promise, even if Tony hadn’t known it at the time. Because they had both protected and destroyed; that was what they did, together.

Tony poured himself a glass of Jotun alcohol, careful to let some for Loki. Every gift to each other was theirs, and he was Loki’s, and Loki was his.

He leaned back and remembered.

*

Two days after their mutually admitting an interest for open-brain surgery, Loki showed up in the penthouse, all bloodied and roughened up. Tony was in the process of cracking the last of SHIELD’s firewalls and had ten seconds left before he was expelled from their system again, but he threw away the StarkPad without a second thought for the part five hours of hard work.

His God of Curiosity had come back. His attention, divided up till now to facilitate the hacking, became a tight beam directed at the green and black figure standing by the bar. Black hair. Green eyes. Black and green clothes torn and burnt, black intent behind every minute shift.  

“What happened?”

“Thanos happened.”

Tony stared at the bruised face, mentally touching every cut, every damaged plane on that alabaster flesh he knew could heat up and blush from pleasure. By the time he realized he was effectively touching Loki’s face, the God was pushing him on the plush sofa and straddling him. Their faces were inches apart. Tony smelled desire and danger on Loki’s breath, mystifying herbs from afar and an aggressive tang much closer to home.

“What did you set on fire?”

“Nothing.” Loki hooked his nails in his shoulders and bit down on his neck. Tony couldn’t help the keen as he heard the skin rip and felt warm blood trickle on the sheets. They were already red. Loki lapped at the wound, his cold yet hot body molded to his. He was completely erect.

“Lo…”

“The Chitauri invasion was nothing,” the God snarled, voice thick with disgust and hunger. “Thanos is the one you ought to worry about.”

‘I don’t worry about anything’ was on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but before the words could take shape in the still air, Loki pressed his lips to his and snaked a hand between their bodies, effectively controlling every synaptic exchange in Tony’s brain from now on.

Loki kissed like he fought: with single-minded determination, brutal proficiency and suave languor. He chewed on Tony’s bottom lip until it bled, before shoving his tongue past the barrage of his teeth and sucking Tony’s tongue into his own mouth. It hurt enough for Tony to moan, and then to growl, because Loki’s hands were anything but idle between their bodies. Soon enough, he was panting, burning, _begging_ for more.

“I still want to cut your head open and take your mind apart,” Loki whispered as he added a third finger in Tony’s tight entrance.

They exhaled in unison as Tony clamped down on his cock a couple of heartbeats later.

“I know,” Tony said, eyes closed to better feel the God stretching him, filling up every inch of warmth he owned. “And I still want you to. And you, too.”

Loki chuckled darkly and started to fuck him in earnest. Tony grabbed the headboard before he hit his head and spread his legs wider to accommodate him. It was the second time they had sex, and yet he felt as if their fucking would always feel like a first, because Loki had a way to make him feel new and shiny.

*

He certainly felt new to the world that day Loki teleported him to Shanghai to watch a row of tall buildings burn and collapse a couple of years later.

“Is it your work?”

“Yes.”

“Trying to reenact 9/11?”

Loki cocked his head. He looked like a bird of prey surveying his next meal.

“I am offering you an opportunity.”

“Ok,” Tony replied simply. He could take everything Loki dished at him, _in stride_ , and keep his cool. So he sat on the roof of the hotel Loki had teleported them to and let his legs dangle off the edge as he admired the kind of arsenic perversion he would have despised from anyone except that tall and proud figure standing at his side.

Tony didn’t question the need to run a hand up one wiry thigh and hummed in approval as another building fell to the side. They were too far from the scene to see the humans being crashed, and for that Tony was grateful.

His hand stopped short of Loki’s waist. Was it…

He turned his head and looked up, only mildly surprised. So Loki was hard. Tony considered the interesting implications as he turned half his attention back to the fireworks.

“You like destruction.”

“I am destruction.”

“You like _like_ destruction,” Tony amended with a knowing smile.

Loki shivered. Tony groaned as his own cock came back to life between his idle legs. A tower exploded in the distance, filling the sky with an ephemeral red spring. Tony went on watching. He had never visited an open-air museum before. Was that what Pepper called ‘modern art’?

He brushed Loki’s inner thigh before taking hold of his straining cock. Since he wouldn’t be able to blow him off and still appreciate the show, he compromised by stroking him to completion. Certainly, half _his_ brain to oversee the procedure was still the best hand job Loki could expect from humanity.

Loki pushed his hand away and knelt behind him. Tony let him arrange his body to his liking, let Loki put him on his hands and knees and magic his clothes away. He was stark naked on the roof of a hotel in Shanghai, watching part of the city burn while the God of Mischief positioned his cock between his cheeks, claimed him. He was part of the art, too. They were the signature at the bottom of the painting.

“I want to hear you, Anthony. I want you to scream.”

And Tony did scream, because Loki had done something to keep him both tight and wet. He screamed because it hurt, because it was so good, better still with all that red madness flowing in the distance like a Moebius strip of blood. He met every Loki’s every thrust because he could, because it was good, so good, and he didn’t want to be the only one making noises here.

“This turns… you on.” He didn’t recognize the throaty voice, but knew it was his own. “It makes you… hard… to take… claim me… here… while you watch… ah!... the world being dest… yes, yes! Oh, God…”

Loki came as Tony climaxed. Godly semen filled his ass even as he shot his load into emptiness, to fall and wet the asphalt fifty meters down. He gasped, eyes watering. The burning towers blinded him like a small sun, or maybe that was the presence at his back.  

“That was lovely,” he said once he could speak again. “Thank you.”

Loki ran a proprietary hand down his back, squeezing his flank.

“A pet needs to know his master.”

Tony hesitated between rolling his eyes and asking for more cock. In the end, he didn’t have to choose, and they made good use of the empty hotel.

*

Twenty years of pure madness, maddening pleasure, discoveries and fights. Because they had fought each other, over trivial things and more serious ones.

It had taken a whole year before Loki truly stopped threatening Tony’s life seriously, and at least a few more months before they really opened up to each other. Tony had known he’d had a fuckton of issues, but it was nothing compared to the God of Mischief.

They had fought over the meaning of life, and the meaning of death. They had fought over Tony’s willingness to defend Loki in front of the other Avengers, and over Loki’s tendency to teleport whenever Tony was being hit by something. Two years into that tryst they had yet to call a relationship, Loki had stopped sending his own armies, too busy fighting Thanos and Mistress Death alongside the Avengers. By the time they were dead–they had also argued about the meaning of Death’s death–, Loki had somehow ‘lost his hand’ at organizing military campaign. Tony knew better than to express disbelief.  

He rubbed at his aching knee. Arthritis was a bitch. Loki had already healed him for that particular issue, and many more life-threatening ones, but Tony hated to ask. Over the last decade, he had come to hate the vulnerability that came with being human, but he could hardly become a god out of his own volition, now, could he? The day he died–not too far of now, not with the kind of life he led–, he hoped he would reincarnate in another of the nine realms, preferably Asgard or Jotunheim. He was sure he could find Loki and pursue whatever it was they had, that loving, passionate, violent marriage that had started the day they had met. As a rule, he didn’t believe in reincarnation, but sometimes he was tired and alone in his bed, because Loki was out there somewhere living to the fullest, and he felt better hoping than weeping. Slightly.

There was the rustling of fabric behind him, and a cold body lined up with his. Tony sighed in something that was definitively not relief.

“Anthony.”

“Loki.”

He turned around, wincing as his back protested. He made sure not to show to the other how much he loathed his own failing limbs and set on fucking Loki until all the doubts and anger were back into their prison cell.

Thighs shaking, hands trembling, he slid out of Loki, kissing the long column of the God’s neck until he was entirely out of breath. There was hardly a make-out session between them that didn’t end up with his own heart threatening to jump out of a metaphorical window. 

“I love you.”

Loki’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Tony swore inwardly. He hadn’t meant to say the words. He had thought them for more than eighteen years now, cherished Loki’s return to his home, _their_ home, but he had never dared presume to offset the balance of their unusual arrangement.

And now, those words. _I love you_. He felt as thought he’d just being offered his death sentence as Loki’s eyes narrowed with barely contained anger.

“Loki, listen…”

Loki stopped him mid-sentence by flipping him on his back and pinning his hands on each side of his head. Tony didn’t bother fighting back: he felt old and stupid, more stupid than that one time he had fell from a balcony because his legs had given under him for no good reason. He had been spanked hard that night, not because he was human, but because he had dared stand so close to the railing _as_ a human. Not the same thing.

The pressure on his wrists became painful. Loki inhaled deeply. Tony could taste his anger now, a dark vintage of fire grapes and honeyed angst.

“It took you long enough.”

At first, Tony wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. By the time he acknowledged that, yes, Loki had just admitted in his own way that he loved him, too, a tongue was thrust up his ass, licking every lovely plane made extra sensitive for their mutual pleasure.

“God, Loki…”

“Always the accurate one, my human.”

Loki’s head emerged from between his thighs.

“About that…”

“Yes?”

He didn’t dare look at Loki’s lips, lest he completely forgot the point he was trying to make.

“I am human.”

“I’ve noticed,” Loki replied in that tone of voice meaning he was being a little too obvious.

Tony shook his head.

“That’s now what I mean. Look…” He ran a hand through his grey hair. “I am sixty, Loki. I can’t…”

“… keep up with me? Is that what you mean?”

Tony licked his lip, suddenly nervous. Loki was looming over him, eyes darkening by the second.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

A hand on his cheek. Threatening and soothing all at once. “And you think I will let you die.”

“Even you can’t cheat death.”

“Is that so?”

Loki looked so sure. He was insane, arrogantly confident, possessive as hell and sure that he could keep death from driving a wedge between them. Who was he to argue?

“Your knee is bothering you again,” Loki said then, in a disapproving tone. As he wove the healing web that would sooth the ache, he added: “Soon, it will stop being a problem.”

Loki slept at his side that night. When Tony woke up in the morning, ordering Jarvis to darken the goddamn windows, Loki was still there, looking at him, _owning_ him. Tony smiled.

Curiosity tasted like immortality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Read ‘this realm’ while listening to [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGas3e7p_9A&t=128s) at 1:55.


End file.
